


Emptiness

by orphan_account



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt John, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Please Don't Kill Me, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:48:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24493768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Noun: emptiness.the state of containing nothingOrthe quality of having no value or purpose; futility.John Lennon can't feel anything anymore aside for emptiness. Luckily, his best friend is there for him(Please, read the tags carefully! This story contains themes that can trigger people, so please, be careful!)
Relationships: John Lennon & Paul McCartney, John Lennon/Paul McCartney (past), John Lennon/Yoko Ono (implied), Linda McCartney/Paul McCartney (implied)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	Emptiness

**Author's Note:**

> READ THE TAGS PLEASE.
> 
> If you've read the tags and you're still up to read this lil one-shot I wrote, feel free to leave a kudo and a comment with your opinion!

White walls, white bed sheets, white floor.

Everything was white. Too white.

In the corner of the room, there was a shivering figure, barefoot and also dressed in white.

A small, fragile looking man was huddled there shivering.

"John…John, what did you do?"

The figure, John, jumped at the sudden shriek, looking up with large, lost eyes.

Yoko. 

He had completely forgotten about her.

He was so deep into his pain, he had forgotten about his own wife.

Yoko was standing there, eyes wide and mouth agape.  
It was weird, usually Yoko wasn't one of showing emotions.

And yet, here she was, looking completely stunned.

Well, John had never done something like that. Not after meeting her, that's it.

"Why did you do it, John?" she screamed and for the very first time, her voice sounded annoying to his ears.

Not that he would tell her that. 

He still loved her. Maybe.

John only kept with his staring, letting Yoko grab his arm and raising it.

Blood was pouring out from both of his arms, coming down in thick, burgundy red droplets, staining the pristine white floor.

John's mind was darkening.

Yoko's voice was sounding farther and farther away, like his ears were filled with wads of cotton, her body slowly blurring and darkening like his eyes were covered with a blindfold.

Finally everything was peaceful.

.

Paul groaned, burying his face into the pillow.

"Paul...go answer the phone…" groaned Linda, turning around and pushing the pillow on his ear.

Paul groaned but got up, annoyed at the loud, insistent ringing of the phone.

"Hello?" he said tiredly, rubbing at his eyes, voice gruff with sleep.

"Paul, it's Yoko!"

"Yoko?" Paul couldn't help the confusion in his voice.

Yoko was the last person he thought would call him.

Then, a deep, unsettling feeling settled into his gut.

Yoko was calling him. In the middle of the night.

Something was surely wrong.

"Y-Yoko, is something wrong?" he asked, holding his breath.

"It's John...Oh God, Paul, John... John…"

"J-John…? What did he do?" asked Paul, confusion and concern blooming into him.

Something was wrong with John…

"He... he's in the hospital, Paul?"

The man frozen. Hospital.

"W-what-?"

"He...he slit his wrists, Paul…" she said. Her voice was a mere whisper.

That whisper, though, never sounded more strong in his ear.

"Paul, what's wrong? Who was on the phone?"

The man looked up, eyes wide in fear and stupor.

He couldn't believe it.

He then noticed the crushed phone on the floor, probably slipped from his slack grip.

Linda was confusedly looking at him, clad in her robe and a confused expression on her face.

She took in the complete crushed expression on her husband's face as she posed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"What's wrong, Paul?" she whispered gently.

Paul's took a shaky breath, "It was Yoko" he said, eyes lowered to the ground.

"Yoko?"

Paul nodded and Linda gulped, "It was...it was for John…"  
"Did something bad happen to him?"

"He had slit his wrists" said lowly the man, feeling the woman's eyes burning holes on his head.

Linda gasped, feeling sorry bubble inside her. Though John and Paul weren't on very good terms, she knew that Paul didn't hate him, and was sure the latter didn't hate her husband either.

"I decided I'm going to New York" he whispered. "I want to see how he's feeling...want to know why he did it" he admitted, looking up from under his fringe.

"I understand love, do you want me to come?"  
Paul shook his head, "I...I need to do this alone, love" he said, straightening himself up.

So Paul found himself on the first plane to New York, one early cold morning.

He hadn't slept at all and was exhausted. The only thing he could think of was John's well being.

He was met at the airport by a worn-out looking Yoko Ono, even more paler than usual, with her dark hair draped across her face like a curtain.

She looked like a zombie, bags under her eyes and clothes slightly disheveled.

They awkwardly greeted each other, the awkwardness from the last time they saw each other still hanging in the air.

The drive to the hospital was a silent one, only interrupted by little small talk.

Paul had been looking out of the window for most of the ride, seeing the lights of New York flash before his eyes, yet his mind was set only on John.

John, that was smiling in Paris with him.  
John, laughing and jumping around.  
John, looking soft under the sun, the light making his hair shine in red shades and freckles on his light skin.

John, whose life was probably on a thin line.

"What happened?"

He turned around to look at the other's face.

Yoko's face was the usual mask of cold impassivity, yet Paul saw a glint of worry and fear in her dark eyes.

She gulped, starting to play with her fingers in her lap.

"He was in our bedroom, I was in the sitting room. There was the sound of something shattering and I ran inside. John was in the corner, blood pouring down his wrists and glass surrounding him, coming from the shattered mirror" she said , voice low.

Her eyes never left Paul's face, studying it.

Paul felt himself shiver under the inquisitive gaze.

"But why? Why did he do it?"

"I don't know. He won't talk" answered softly Yoko. "Listen Paul, he had asked about you in one of his rare conscious states" 

Paul's eyes widened, he then noticed they had arrived to the hospital, one of the big, ones.

Paul followed the small japanese woman through hallways and stairs, until they were standing in front of a door.

"Here. This is John's bedroom. You can enter" she said, nodding at the door.

Paul gulped, hands clammy by his sides.

He couldn't stop thinking about the man at the other side of the door.

He slowly, very slowly opened the door and stepped inside, his heart beating so fast it felt like it was going to jump out of his rib cage.

The room was white, aseptic.  
A vase of flowers was on the bedside table, but aside for that, the room was empty of every other decoration.

Paul slowly walked towards a chair near the hospital bed and slowly sat down, feeling like the time had frozen.

He reached out with a shaky hand.

John had never looked more small and fragile than in that moment.

Though Paul perfectly knew that John's tough demeanor was only a perfectly carved façade to the sweet, soft side of him, he still had never seen him so hurt and small, almost as just the blanket could crush him under its weight.

John's face was pale and gaunt, and Paul sniffled a bit, remembering how soft and full it used to be when John was still with him.

He shook his head. That was the past. Now he had Linda and John had Yoko.  
Though Paul wasn't fond of the japanese woman, he could see how much she cared about the man, and that was good enough for Paul.

Much to Paul's horror, his arms were covered in bandages: both hands, up to the elbows, white pristine bandages were wrapped.

The younger man's eyes teared up at the sight.

He couldn't help but wonder why John had done that.

Wasn't he happy?

Exhausted by all those emotions and by the jet lag, Paul fell into a restless sleep right there on the chair.

Paul stared wide-eyed at his best friend.  
His best friend, who was now sitting in front of him, eyes open but unfocused.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The younger man looked down. Blood was slowly trickling down to the floor.

"John...what have you done…?" whispered Paul frightened.

John smiled, a sick, twisted smile, his eyes incredibly unfocused and glassy.

The younger man grabbed in, sitting him down onto the bed.

John was looking around, letting Paul clean his cuts.

"Why did you do it?" he then asked.

John looked at him, only shrugging his shoulders.

When Paul woke up again, he was still feeling exhausted.

His eyes widened. John was now awake, looking at him blankly.

"J-John!" said Paul, sitting up straighter and getting closer.

John only looked at him, before a small, weak smile formed onto his face.

"Paul? What are you doing here?" he asked weakly.

Even if he didn't want to make it noticeable, it was clear to Paul that John was clear he was there with him.

"Yoko called me, John. She told me...she told me what you did" he whispered, one hand reaching out shakily.

John sighed, before looking away from his mate's face.

"I didn't do it on purpose"  
"What? Of course you did!" said Paul, starting to feel angry.

"Listen, Paul, what I do with my body is not your problem" he snapped angrily.

But it didn't look dangerous.

He looked fragile.

He was in a hospital bed, both arms covered by bandages. His face was so pale he almost looked translucent.

"John, please tell me. Why did you do it again? I...I thought you were happy now!"

John was blankly staring at the ceiling, "I don't know"

"What?"

"I don't know if I'm happy" he answered, voice lacking of any intonation.

Paul sat to the edge of the chair, grasping the man's hand.

"Paul...why can't I feel anything?" asked John, eyes wide and scared.

He resembled so much a little kid that Paul's heart broke.

"What do you mean, Johnny?" he whispered softly, one hand bravely running through his mate's soft hair.

"I'm numb...I can't feel happiness or sadness or pain...it's almost like I'm back in 66…." he admitted.

Paul's gut dropped. 1966. John's nightmare year.

The year where John had tried to take his own life.

Paul and Ringo had found him laying in the bathtub with a razor in hand.

Almost lifeless, face pale and water red.

Blood was trickling down the side of the tub.

It was a horrish show. They were paralyzed.

They could luckily save him, but Paul couldn't forget his best friend's face and glassy unfocused eyes staring at him without really seeing him.

After that accident, Paul had been very cautious around him.

He knew that John was very hurt physically. It was probably Paul's fault.

Paul, who had rejected him.

He couldn't love John the way John loved him.

He knew that John's love was a dependent one, he just couldn't love him that way though.

Paul was snapped out of his memories by a soft hand placed on his face.

"I need help…" whispered the older man, looking up intently at the other.

Paul grasped his hand. "Yes. And I'll be here with you step by step" he said ever so softly.

He leaned down just a little, pressing his lips ever so softly on his forehead.

And John smiled, leaning up in the tender touch.

They shared a tender grin, hands grasped together.

When John had fallen asleep, Paul stepped out to call Linda.

He had completely forgotten about her, up until he had seen Yoko.

Seeing Yoko, he remembered he was John's wife, and remembering his wife made him remember his own wife.

"Paul? Is he alright?"

Paul sighed, passing a hand through his hair, "Yes...Yes, Linda, he's alright! He's fine, but he needs me…"

Silence met him for a while, the only sound in his ear was his own heartbeat.

"I understand, Paul. You can stay there as long as you need. I understand, love"

Paul sighed in relief, happy that his wife was so understanding.

"Thank you, Lin. I love you"  
"Love you too, Paul. Say hi to John and Yoko"

The man closed the call, quietly walking back to the room.

Yoko smiled up tearily from her place next to the bed, her hand intertwined in her husband's soft auburn hair.

"Thank you, Paul. Thank you for being such a good friend" she whispered, "And I'm sorry if I was such an arse to you"

Paul smiled a little, "It's all right, Yoko. I can really see that John is happy with you and if he's happy than I'm happy"

The two smiled at each other, before turning to look at the peacefully sleeping man.  
He was going to set aside his hate for the asian woman, everything to make his best friend happy.

It was going to be hard.  
It was going to be filled with pain and betrayal and everything in between.

But they were going to be alright, Paul was sure of it.

But he wanted to be there for John, not abandoning him like last time.

Sure, John had Yoko and the two loved each other, but Paul was going to be there nonetheless.

It was going to be alright, they were going to be together no matter what.


End file.
